


Desperate: Anyone is fine

by BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Balloon Boy was always old in this version, Bullying, Character Study, Drug Use, F/M, He's a midget actually, How's that for a tag, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet and Greets, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Love, a druggie midget, poor relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting/pseuds/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting
Summary: Balloon Boy is really desperate for a date. Desperate enough to ask everyone he’s ever had a smidgen of a feeling toward anyways. Can he manage to get some tail before the pizzeria’s resident furious furry is his only option? He sure as hell hopes so.Sorry for the mass of tags





	Desperate: Anyone is fine

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I'm gonna level with you. This started out as a funny little joke on how much people don't like BB, but then it turned into this epic of a story. In a way though, it kind of works as a meet and greet for my versions of these characters. Of course, there are other characters that I didn't have the patience to add in, but this is quite a few of them. If there's any reason to read this, besides to laugh at BB with me and to read my amazing work, it's to meet some of the characters I haven't had time to write for. i don't mean to say something bad about myself, but I do know that BB isn't the most popular and I don't want people to skip over this story just for that... Besides, this is the beginning of a certain alternative plot I have brewing in my brain. Enjoy ;).
> 
> For updates on stories, sneak peaks, and occasionally fanart please check me out at [TheHeraldOfTheDark](https://theheraldofthedark.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.

“I know that my name is Balloon Boy. But I am not a boy, I am a man,” Balloon Boy says with an edge to his voice as he leans against one of the fake, oversized presents near his station, “a short person isn’t necessarily a young person, you know.” Whenever someone mistakes him for a kid, and that person isn’t someone who correcting would go really badly, he always cites the same things: his head is the size of an adult’s, his arms and legs are out of proportion for a child, his torso is too large (vertically and horizontally) to be a kid, and most importantly he just wasn’t. He would tell them that he’s actually closer to a midget, at least from what he understands of them. He’s talking to a kid now, though, and concepts like that just don’t make sense to them.

“So how old are you?” The little kid Balloon Boy opened up to asks, staring innocently into BB’s uncaring eyes.

Balloon Boy takes in an unneeded breath, as if he didn’t expect the kid to say anything. “Well,” he begins, watching his words carefully, “The pizzeria opened around a month ago, so I’m…” He mumbles something that neither of them can hear under the usual screaming and singing of the pizzeria.

“My sister turned 12 today, and she says that we have to call her a ‘tween’ now. Are you a tween? And no one calls you a tween?” The boy asks again. The large smear of multicolored frosting really should have clued Balloon Boy in.

He relaxes just a little, “no, I’m not a tween, silly. It’s just that my friends over there?” He points to the stage where the toy animatronics are putting on a show, the lights blaring onto them. “They think I am a child too.”

“Harsh,” the kid says, “my parents don’t believe anything I say, like about the monster in my closet.” He smiles mischievously, “they did do something when I screamed about it though.”

Balloon Boy grins and pats the kid’s head, “well done. But we can’t scream at each other here at Freddy Fazbear’s.” His face drifts into an uncharacteristically mournful expression, “I wish we could though.”

“You know Mr. Balloon Man, whenever Winnie the Pooh needs advice he always goes to the owl guy,” the young boy says wisely, “maybe you should ask an owl about it.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of self-control not to laugh at the innocent kid, but he still lets a single snicker ring out. “There’s no owl animatronic here, and besides, I answer to no—.” a single, devious thought occurs to him, and he grins like a Cheshire cat, “you know, young man? I think that’s a wonderful idea.” He shakes his balloon in the kid’s face, “want a balloon, sprout?”

 The kid’s face lights up like an animatronic’s eyes after an adult in a purple outfit walks by, “oh boy, can I?!”

“Of course you can!” He drops the fake balloon and sign to reach for his balloon-making equipment. He pulls a limp balloon out of his special balloon storage pocket and lines it up with his helium-hatch. To the kid’s surprise and frustration, no matter how lightly and half-heartedly Balloon Boy fiddles with the thing it won’t open. Balloon Boy feigns disappointment, “how unfortunate, it doesn’t seem that it wants to open up.” He tuts, “looks like I’ll have to go off to get fixed. Sorry about that.” He looks around for the boy he had been chatting with, only to find that he had buggered off for something more interesting than a malfunctioning balloon dispenser.

It was no odd occurrence to see an animatronic wandering off to wherever they deemed it necessary to go, but it was a little strange to see one stomping down the halls. It even surprised Balloon Boy that he would be in such a bad mood, but not by much. For most of the animatronics at the restaurant, a child getting bored and leaving was a common place non-event that warranted little more than a shrug and a return to work. Balloon Boy wasn’t like most of the animatronics, however, and it wasn’t just because he was so human like. Every time a child would wander off, or any time a worker would move on from him a part of himself that he kept under lock and key would wiggle out into the light.

As he passes the stage and enters the hallway, he does his best to calm down. He doubts that the big three (or any guests) would have paid him much attention with a show still going on, but in the hallways having an animatronic roaming around tends to worry people. They do come around there for the party rooms, and to check on any guests that might be lost or hiding. It’s late in the day though, and most of the guests are in the main room waiting for their children to tire themselves out. Seeing an angry robot clomping around would surely cost them another customer. Besides, the others never thought of Balloon Boy as the angry type, he was the calm, cool, loser type. He had to keep up appearances.

With that in mind, he once again focuses his anger towards chilling out. He begins to slouch slightly, his expression drifts to one of a half-baked wisdom, and he tests out his signature laugh just to make sure his voice is chill enough. Being a veteran actor, it only takes about the time to walk from the men’s bathroom to the women’s to fully pull it off. In his defense, though he would never tell anyone, sometimes a person needs to pretend to be someone they’re not. It just so happens that he needs to do it a little more often than most.

“Ey, Maintenance?” He announces to the dreary parts-and-services room, “I got a problem over here.” If he didn’t know that he was pretty pissed off his low, casual tone would have convinced even him that he was one of those calm stoner types.

 “What’d you do this time?” you ask from your work bench, not even bothering to turn around. Your uniform was notably more stained than the other employees’ were allowed to be, but since you only came out when things were really wrong no one cared. You were completely slouched over some unknown piece of equipment, tinkering away like every other day. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

He smiles without much force, knowing that you would be doting on him if not for the mystery object that you were screwing with. “My, uh… hatch won’t open. Could you maybe…?”

You turn around after a few long seconds of perfecting whatever scrap you were interested in today. He fiddles with the button that “won’t open,” smiling at you as innocently as he can manage. That just so happens to be pretty convincing, and you’re kneeling in front of him within seconds. You coo some motherly nothings and hoist the fairly light robot onto your desk. Some of the others require the table to be lowered before they can get on it, but him weighing about the same as an air canister and some plastic makes things easier. You plop him down onto the overworked bench and look around for your tools. He takes the moment to look around for a certain golden bear, only to find the empty shells of his sort-of friends. He remembers why he doesn’t stop by more often.

“Ok,” you say as you turn back to him, “do you have a system diagnosis report?”

He snickers, “I don’t have time for that, man,” he leans back onto his weird little ball hands, “can’t you just… fix it?”

You sigh like so many of the parents who’ve had to drag their kids out of the establishment over the years. “You really want me to work for this, don’t you?”

He giggles like the little brat he is, “c’mon, repair dude, would I do that?”

His impishness is infectious, and you can’t help but giggle back and flick his brown nose in retaliation for the thing he clearly did on purpose. “Well, let me take a look at it.”

Firstly, you try to pry at it with your nails, pulling it towards you and up. When that doesn’t work, you bring out a screw driver, and work it like that. When it still doesn’t work, you decide some other tool will have to do, so you start digging through your toolbox. Out of your line of sight, Balloon Boy releases the doo-hickey and the hatch pops open with absolutely no effort. He can’t help but giggle at his own antics, he means, you’re gonna be so pissed! He just can’t wait to see the look on your face: you’re going to get a little red from anger, your face is going to tense up, your eyes are going to burn like a thousand suns, it’s gonna be great.

“Oh, it already opened,” you say, interrupting his fantasy.

“When did you—?” He spits out, breaking character for a moment.

“I could kinda see you the whole time, little guy,” you say with a hint of awkwardness, knowing that somehow crossed some line.

“Oh…” he can’t seem to meet your eyes, finding his hands far more fascinating.

You scratch the back of your neck. It seems every day you’re around these… marvelous machines you run into something you never thought would be possible. Today’s discovery? Apparently, machines can feel embarrassed. And furthermore, that you could make one feel embarrassed. Oops. You glance at your clock, “you know, Balloon Boy, it’s already pretty late. Maybe you should take the day off?” You hope that could maybe make the poor guy feel a little better.

“Really?!” He says like an excited child just offered a sucker. He clears his throat, “yeah man, that’d be rad.”

You try to ruffle his nonexistent hair, “have fun, I gotta go check on the others.”

“You do that, repair dude,” he says.

“Oh and by the way?” You say, just before you leave, “please, don’t excite the old ones, you know what happened last time.”

He grimaces as much as his plastic skin will allow, but he switches back to his trademark smile in a matter of seconds, “you can count on it, man.”

The only thing he gets in return is your overworked sigh and the slow creak of the rusty Parts-and-Services door. As the lights dim to the point of blackness, his built-in night vision kicks in and so does to a reluctant smile. It’s not that he’s dreading seeing his “owl,” it’s more that every time he does see the “owl” a few more of his wires burn out.  He wouldn’t dream of telling the person (?) who’s not only his mentor, partner-in-crime, and father figure but also one of his only friends that meeting with him almost always results in a re-evaluation of his own life choices. Still, that doesn’t stop it from being absolutely true.

He directs his attention to the body peeking into the workbench enclave of the room without its own volition. Seeing one of his fellow animatronics with such dead eyes and a complete lack of movement is unsettling, but not quite how it was the first time he saw such a sight. Truly, it worries him now because if the older models aren’t active yet, his friend probably isn’t either. It’s also true that the man is so detached from anyone else that he could very well be checking out the stage or one of the party rooms or (and he wishes he never found him like this) even in the bathrooms all on different occasions. It’s also _also_ true that Balloon Boy has never really pinpointed the place where he comes from, or even the place where he spends most of his time. It’s also _also_ **_also_** true that BB is mostly just avoiding having to look for him since 9 times out of 10 the pompous man just comes to him.

“Hello little man,” his off-the-wall friend finally says with his deep, nearly guttural voice, “it’s a fine day today, isn’t it?”

Far from being surprised (he always snuck up on him like this) Balloon Boy irritably turns around to look at his dear (?) friend. “What took you so long?” He says in a far more natural, almost Brooklyn {accent?} voice.

Standing in front of him (behind him if either party cared about the technicality) was none other than the long-gone patriarch himself, Golden Freddy. He isn’t really standing and saying he is there may be a bit of a lie as BB can see through him. Truthfully no one really knows where Golden Freddy’s body really is, if it’s really on the premises, or if he has a body at all. It’s easier to speculate that the rumors and confusion are part of why everyone is too afraid to ask him. The other part of why this rotund, cocky, and sleazy bear is such a figure of fear stems mostly from his past. The older models say that he did things that no animatronic could dream of, or perhaps even should: that is, of course, the reason BB had grown so close to him in the first place.

The transparent bear chuckles and adjusts his bowtie, “you can’t rush perfection you know.” At BB’s sigh the bear laughs just a little harder. “You’re just slaying me here, boy! But we both know you didn’t stop by just to hear my jokes. What’s eating you?”

“What’s eating me,” the exasperated boy says, “are those damn _actors_ not giving me the respect I deserve.”

“What’do ya mean?” Golden Freddy says with as much innocence as the man can muster, “I think they’re a real buncha darb young adults! The little bear knows his onions, the bunny is hip to the jive, and oh boy what I wouldn’t do to that chicken.”

BB raises his hands up, “I don’t want to know about the chicken. And besides, that’s how they are to you! You can’t even begin to understand what they’re like to me!”

Golden Freddy laughs, patting the ticked animatronic on the head, “I think I know what this is about.”

A small knot forms in BB’s stomach, “you do?”

“Of course I do!” The large bear booms, “I went through it myself once.”

BB squints at the grinning bear, “you did?”

“But of course! I remember the old gang used to think I was a flat tire! Then they saw me around with good ol’ Springy.” The pompous man strokes his obviously fake moustache, “those were the days.”

A bit of excitement circuits through his body, “wait, are you sayin’ that having a cat around made them like you?”

“I think it was more that they realized I was the big cheese,” he says thoughtfully, “When they saw us together, it was like they finally got that I had more than them; I had a better gig, more dough, and a sweet piece of eye candy.”

BB barely listens to his friend’s memoir, for a glorious thought begins to materialize in his CPU. It seems obvious now, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, almost like the correct answer was sitting right in front of his face and he had been too wrapped up in self-pity to notice. It’s like some kind of gospel: of course having a companion around would help him on every front. They could put in the good word for him, they could listen to him, they could do what he couldn’t, and most importantly they could make him look cool. It was truly a genius idea. The best part is that he already has a lineup of possible candidates for the position. If only he knew how to actually do it.

“Anyways, little guy, I won’t talk your ear off any longer,” he says as he begins to fade away, “besides, I hear that one of the employees is going to my kind of club later tonight.” He laughs his unbecoming, high-pitched giggle, “I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“Wait!” BB yells as Golden Freddy fades away, “how do I get a—aaaand he’s gone.”

Once more the eerie room is silent, save for the mechanisms in him that allow him to fume. It was just like his old friend to bugger off before BB was done with him, especially for a pretty face. To keep from blowing his cool, Balloon Boy takes an inventory of the pretty faces this place could give him. Truth be told, he couldn’t care less whether his companion was a dude or a dudette: his programming kept him from liking one kind of customer more than another. There were of course, some that he simply wouldn’t—no—couldn’t consider.

“Balloon Boy?” A soft voice mummers from behind the wall, “is that you?”

She’s not one of those, “the one and, like, only.” He says to the old chicken, who steps out into his line of sight. She’s just as broken and sad looking as usual, but something like that isn’t going to stop the BB train. To the best of his ability, he tries to return to the calm him he was before, but with the tiniest amount of suave.

She manages a half-hearted chuckle, “oh it must be you. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Her voice drops into worry, “you don’t need fixing, do you?”

“Don’t sweat it, man,” he says as he drops to the floor, “you can’t find a guy who’s in better shape than me.” He adds a flex to the end of his sentence.

Chica giggles, bringing her stumps up to her face, “is that so?”

“Totally,” he says proudly, “and might I say that you’re looking fine tonight.”

Her large, purple eyes shoot open, “I… do?” The dilapidated chicken pats herself down.

“Yeah,” he lies through his plastic teeth, “more than usual, I’d say.”

She giggles, “oh aren’t you a little charmer!” She pats his head with the wires of one of her stumps, “I could just eat you up.”

His eye twitches, but he soldiers on, “you certainly have charmed me, you beauty you.” His voice had drifted into the smooth, ever-so-slightly Brooklyn accent he reserved only for people he was trying to get close to.

Her smile (if you could call it that) begins to wane, “beauty, huh?”

Not quite picking up on her apprehension, he continues, “of course! Someone as… vivacious as you could catch any animatronic’s eye.”

Her shoulders slump, and with what little mouth she has left frowns, “you don’t need to lie to this old hen, I know I’m not the chick I used to be.”

“No, no, no! I’m not lying!” His arms flail about as if he’s trying to find the perfect thing to say, “I really like your smile—oh shit.”

Her hollow chest squeaks with the mashing of corroding gears as she tries to sob. She brings her stumps to her face to cover as much of it up as she can. “I remember when I could smile,” she says through the grinding sounds, “why can’t that happen again?”

The sound of Chica sobbing echoes throughout the tight space, returning to his ears as a nearly unbearable wailing noise. With her soulful “crying” the rest of the retired models wake up. He knows this very well, and he knows how bad of a situation this looks like. The depressed yet loveable chicken openly sobbing, which anyone with a brain or a dislike of him could easily tell that he caused. Even with how old and damaged they are, there’s no doubt that this could be a little worse than a simple slap on the wrist.

The old patriarch is the first to investigate, with his fuzzy wingman and pirate frenemy not far behind. As the ones in the back push the others forward, the fear sets into Balloon Boy. Very quickly the room becomes filled with rusted, broken shells of what used to be lively performers. It’s unnerving enough to see one abandoned animatronic, all at once is just a nightmare. Similarly, having a bunch of disgruntled robots who aren’t happy about him making one of their own cry is even more of a nightmare. If Balloon Boy could sweat, he’d be standing in a puddle of it right about now.

“Balloon Boy?” Freddy is the first to speak up, “what did you do to Chica?” Freddy is quick to bring the distraught chicken closer to him in a hug. His milky eyes rest accusingly on Balloon Boy with all the disapproval of an unforgiving superior. Even in his broken state, his features still retain the rigidness of an unmoving mountain. Before BB can get a word in, Freddy answers for him, “how many times have we told you: we don’t want any damn batteries!”

Balloon Boy hesitates before replying, “I didn’t even… like, I’m innocent, man!” His overly calm voice pops back into action. He creeps closer to Chica, “right, homegirl?” Chica sobs, but Balloon Boy presses on, “we were just having a friendly chat.”

“Don’t even try!” The faceless bunny says, stepping between BB and Chica, “you’ve done way too much already! Why do you always gotta do this kind of shit?” He leads the trio into their part of the room. Before he disappears around the corner, as much as he can, he glares at BB. “No wonder nobody likes you, freak.”

The three closest animatronics creak and rust their way out of BB’s vision, taking with them just a little more of his hope. As bad as that train wreck just went it didn’t come near to how bad he thought it was going to go: he isn’t even a little broken! Unfortunately, the most dangerous one is left over. He smiles through his fear at the smoking fox, “Hey dude…?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Foxy asks coolly, his normally goofy pirate accent now undeniably threatening. The others still made some noise, but with the fox’s intense gaze everything else in the room disappears. The battered fox’s ears are down, his muzzle in a scowl, and his amber eyes glowing with rage.

“What do you mean, buddy?” BB says, honestly a little confused. His body tenses in preparation for whatever thing the fiery fox is about to do.

“I mean,” he spits, “what the hell are you doing coming onto Chica like that?”

“You heard that?” BB says breathlessly, “how much?”

“I was listening to the mechanic,” he says, “I don’t trust anyone who takes what’s mine.”

If he had a heart, he knows that Foxy’d hear it, “that long?”

Foxy ignores him, “so when I heard ye chatting up Chica, I nearly blew a gasket.”

“That voice I was doing, I was just messing—excuse me?” Balloon Boy is once again thrown off his game, “it was just a little flirting, I really wasn’t trying to upset her.”

“That be it!” Foxy says too loudly, “ye think ye get to say whatever ye want! Ye think ye can replace me!”

Balloon Boy backs up timidly, but he can’t help but raise his voice to match Foxy’s, “replace you? What the hell are you talking about! I was just trying to get a date!”

Foxy all but lunges at Balloon Boy, pinning him against the desk with his presence alone. “THAT’S THE DAMN PROBLEM! YOU BELONG TO ME! YER SUPPOSED TO BE ME CABIN BOY AND I’M YER CAPTAIN! THAT’S HOW THIS WORKS!”

Balloon Boy tries to ignore the rising fear and anger in his chest, “wow, uh, wow.” His eyes are fixed to Foxy’s growling muzzle, all of his teeth sharp enough to do some serious damage even to a person entirely made of thick plastic. If he ever wished that his designers avoided anything, it was probably the odor functions on his nose: then he didn’t have to smell the fox that smelled like he bathed in rusty fish. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you.” He does remember agreeing when Foxy called him his “cabin boy” before, but he figured it just meant friend or bro or something. Although, now that he thinks about it, it would explain why Foxy is so possessive all the time.

“OF COURSE IT MEANS SOMETHING TO ME!” Foxy says.

“Well, I know now,” Balloon Boy says, looking around him for some way of escaping. He knows he has no chance of overpowering the fox, so all your discarded tools can’t do anything. The radio on the work bench? Now that could be useful. Carefully, Balloon Boy fakes leaning back in fear to press the PT’s button to hopefully get through to you. “I really need some help here,” he says to the both of you, “what does being a cabin boy entail?” He says to only Foxy.

“I’ll tell ye~,” to BB’s disgust, the moth-eaten pirate grins insidiously and pushes his body against BB’s. Balloon Boy tries to keep his hand on the button despite how bad he wanted to slap that stupid, eerie grin off his face. Foxy leans close to his ear, or where it should be, “there’s quite a few… responsibilities ye have to take up.”

If Balloon Boy could gag, he’d have done it already, “could we maybe hurry this up?” He mostly says to you, though he’d settle for Foxy leaving him the hell alone.

An almost child-like glee suddenly lights up Foxy’s eyes as he begins to describe the responsibilities, “ye gotta hang out with me whenever I ask, ye gotta call me ‘captain Foxy’ not just Foxy, ye gotta stand up fer me, ye gotta defend me ship, ye gotta play pretend with me, oh! And I got ye the manliest outfit I could find.”

Not for the first time in his life, the people around him just baffle Balloon Boy. “Why… why can’t I flirt, again?”

His face goes back to his supposed constant: unbridled rage, “they’re the enemy! Ye can’t consort with the enemy!”

“What the hell are you doing in my office?!” As if the gods of irony and good timing are smiling upon him, you suddenly burst through the door. “It sounds like you’re about to film a pirate porno in here!” You freeze as the lights turn on, and you get an eyeful of Foxy pinning the horrified Balloon Boy to your work station. You channel the spirit of a disappointed Freddy as you look at the creature that makes your life way harder than it needs to be. “Why is it always you, Foxy? Can’t we have one day, just one day, where you don’t do something like this?”

“Don’t you sass me!” Foxy snarls, lifting himself off Balloon Boy to bare his teeth at you, “I ain’t doing nothing wrong!”

“You call creeping on Balloon Boy in my office ‘nothing’?” you growl back.

Foxy has the audacity to scoff at you, “I ain’t creeping on ‘im, just ask ‘im.” He gestures to your workbench, “tell this landlubber what we were—where’d ‘e go?”

To your surprise, and Foxy’s betrayal, Balloon Boy is nowhere to be found. You almost wonder if you imagined the call, but the weird looks you got from your fellow employees certainly happened. Whatever the case, any chance to give Foxy crap is one you feel obligated to take, “you scared him off, I told you you were freaking him out.”

As the tiles whizzed past him, he can swear he hears Foxy screaming, “ME?!” Whatever the manic fox’s problem is, he’s glad he’s not at the brunt end of it. That’s not to say that Foxy snaps at him often, quite the contrary: Balloon Boy is sure he’s pretty much the only person who Foxy trusts. On the other hand, almost everybody has experienced a Foxy freak-out at least once. Sometimes he gets pissy about being decommissioned, sometimes he won’t stop whining about how the new models act, sometimes he screams at the less corporeal members of their peanut gallery for being so creepy, and other times he flips out for no discernable reason. With that said, no one can deny that the pirate is almost always right. That’s why his clean record with the fox is so bizarre: at some point, he’s expected Foxy to finally realize that BB isn’t the good little cabin boy he thinks he is… although today did seem like a start.

Suddenly, he remembers his noble quest: he needs a date. But who to go to next…?

 _Foxy’s so protective of us!_ The more naïve side of himself speaks up, _he’d do_ anything _to make sure we’re ok! He’d be a perfect companion!_

 _You have got to be high or something,_ his older, more cynical side retorts, _that man is so unstable, he is literally falling apart._

Balloon Boy wishes his life wasn’t at the point where having voices that he could barely control was absolutely normal, but it totally is. It’s run-of-the-mill, standard, just one of those things he’s come to expect about his robotic existence. They’re more than voices though, they are him. Sort of. He means they were their own people once, with memories he can still remember, but they aren’t anymore. In fact, save for weird moments like this, there aren’t really any boundaries between them. All the traits they used to have are all mixed together now, with some parts replacing others, disappearing, and becoming out of the blue. It doesn’t make any sense to him, something about souls combining with code and each other? Puppet explained it to him once, but it just sounded like gibberish.

“I don’t even like that guy,” he mumbles to himself, getting back to the problem at hand.

 _What? We like him! Don’t lie,_ says the kinder one.

He says under his breath, “I’m not lying.”

 _He makes us feel less lonely,_ says the cynic.

“I know _that,_ ” he continues, “but I don’t like, _like_ him.”

“Who the hell are you talking to, wastoid?” Says one of the banes of Balloon Boy’s existence, “is it that washed-up, wannabe poser?” Reluctantly, he lifts his head to meet the eyes of the ultimate mean-girl/Heathers prissy-gossiping-popular person, only in bear form. How awkward it is to properly describe him is a small part of why he hates him so much. Who gave Toy Freddy the right to make anyone who tries to describe him sound stupid? Who the hell does he think he is? Besides being the de-facto leader of the toys, and the most popular animatronic, and the one who keeps everyone in line. In other words: a huge stumbling block.

“Do you mean… Golden Freddy?” BB says, trying to keep the hatred out of his voice.

Toy Freddy barely even notices the anger, “who else would I be talking about, koozbane? He’s the only person around who would even try to copy my style, or have the gall to ignore me. At least the old Freddy knows who to pay his respects to. Besides, if he’s such a scary guy like you keep saying, he can come shut me up himself. You know,” Toy Freddy leans down to BB’s level, “if he even _exists_.”

“I wouldn’t,” BB reigns in his disdain, “careful man, he could be like, listening or something.”

Toy Freddy laughs with an over the top anime-popular girl laugh, “weren’t you paying attention? ‘Golden Freddy’ doesn’t exist!” He pats BB on the head with no regard for his spinny doodad, “imaginary friends are for the guests, little guy, you’ve got to grow up someday.” There’s something brotherly in Toy Freddy’s tone, like he wants to pick on BB while also giving him some unneeded life advice.

Oh, how Balloon Boy wants to kick that stupid look off his face, or better yet call Golden Freddy over to really rip him a new one. He can’t do any of those things, though. He may have the heart for a fight, but he certainly doesn’t have the firepower to back it up. Plus, more importantly, he kind of wants Toy Freddy to like him. Last time he checked beating the crap out of someone isn’t exactly the best way to make them like you. Also, Golden Freddy probably left by now to do… whatever he thinks he’s going to get away with at a gentleman’s club (which is far more than what he _should_ be able to).

“Earth to Balloon Boy, Earth to Balloon Boy,” Toy Freddy bonks BB a few times on the head, “having fun out there, space cadet?”

“Totally, my dude,” Balloon Boy says, “say, how has your day been?”

Toy Freddy scoffs, “wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I, like, really would, man.”

“You’re not cool enough to even be talking to me right now,” Toy Freddy says, looking around as if looking for someone.

“Oh c’mon, man! I just wanna know how the day’s been treating you!” BB says, creeping closer to Toy Freddy.

Toy Freddy jolts back, “Gross! Don’t touch me, creep!”

“I’m not trying to touch you!” Balloon Boy insists, praying that someone really cool would intervene in this situation.

“Woah yo bro! I know you aren’t cranking on my bro’s style bro! That’d be totally unradical!” says Toy Bonnie, somehow making BB regret his own thoughts not even 1 second after he thought them. “You totally wouldn’t want to be an uncool anti-homeslice would you, bro?” It’s hard not to stare at the rabbit’s obnoxious backwards cap, or his yeah-I-wear-these-inside-what-of-it sunglasses.

“That’s the last thing I want,” BB says to (and about) Toy Bonnie. Where did that bunny even come from? BB hadn’t seen him approach… there are just some things, he supposes, that cannot be known about such a rad dude.

“I’d hope so, little dude,” Toy Bonnie puts his arm on Toy Freddy’s shoulders whilst all but posing, “cause me and this dawg are tight as a skateboard wheel!”

Toy Freddy graciously yet hesitantly returns the skater rabbit’s gesture, yet still having the gall to throw in a rude gesture, “there’s no place for such a ditz in my clique!”

“Now hold on, brokowski!” Toy Bonnie says, pointing towards Toy Freddy’s rogue hand, “that’s not the kind of thing you can do in front of a kid!” BB winces at the underlying cruelty in his words.

“You of all people can’t tell me what to do in front of a kid, not after that incident with the skateboard,” Toy Freddy says with strong with his nsfw gesture in full effect.

“We don’t talk about that, my dude,” Toy Bonnie’s voice lowers to an unsettling tone.

The two of them lock eyes for the tensest of moments. BB silently hopes they’ll start pummeling each other, if only for the glorious show. Of course, he isn’t ever that lucky, and they laugh off the tension in a matter of seconds. They begin to leave, undoubtedly to do the kind of friend stuff BB would’ve loved to do with anyone.

“Fucking assholes,” BB mumbles to himself as they leave.

With his luck at the lowest it can go, the bots hear every word he said. They turn back to him, and with them just out of the lights, even BB has to admit he’s a little intimidated.

“You better watch your mouth, fuckwit-O-rama,” Toy Freddy says like a snake on a throne, “I’ve got connections that an outcast like you could only dream about.”

“Yeah, _bro_ ,” Toy Bonnie hisses with his glasses off just enough to see his eyes sharpen into white dots, “you really wouldn’t want me to get all unrad on you now, would you?”

An image of the last night guard flashes through his mind, “no.”

Satisfied, the two terrifying bros turn back without another word, leaving Balloon Boy to catch his breath in the dining area. He curses himself for not holding back just one more second, just one more second and he could’ve said whatever he wanted. Now he’s even further from becoming their stoner friend. At this rate, he’ll be lucky if they ever acknowledge him as a semi-living being again.

“Like oh. My. Gosh! That was bulk brutal!” A high pitched, breathy voice calls from behind him.

“I’m so sorry!” he cries as he curls in on himself.

A downy hand pats him on the shoulder, “like, for what?”

At the touch of her falsely feathered hand, BB finds himself relaxing just a hair. He unfurls like a tubby flower from his panic ball and flops against the dirty tile. Above him stands the visage of many-a young furry’s first wake up call, Toy Chica. Like usual, her head feathers are held up in a top ponytail, with the feathers styled in zig-zags and the tips frosted pink. She has the thinly voluptuous body of a valley girl, but her eyes and smile hold the detached excitement of a class A partier. From his angle beneath her, he has to admit, he likes what he sees.

Toy Chica giggles, “what are you, like, staring at?”

BB hums in agreeance as if he had heard whatever Toy Chica just said. Once what she said dawns on him, he spasms to get on his feet but he ends up rocking back and forth on his back like a turtle. The desperate look on his face and the way his limbs are shaking all over the place makes Toy Chica giggle once again. She gives BB’s panicking form a small kick just to watch him wobble back and forth. Luckily for BB, the new momentum is just enough for him to roll into a sitting position. With his dignity long gone, BB finally makes it to his feet with all his mechanical parts clunking away at the effort.

“You know,” he says as he turns to face her, “I think there’s a saying about kicking someone when they’re down.”

“Like, whoops?” She says, “was that, like, bad or something?”

BB brushes the floor dirt off himself, “no problem with me,” he lies.

Toy Chica smiles her far off smile, “that’s good. I wouldn’t want to, like, make you feel any worse.” Her face gets just about as serious as he had ever seen her get, “I just hate a party pooper.”

BB laughs, hoping that the party pooper isn’t him, “no fake?”

“Omigod totally!” She says, clenching her fists, “there’s nothing that I hate more than some zeek trying to kill the party spirit!”

“Tell me about it,” BB says, inching closer to her.

“Like OMG! It’s like, my job to make sure people are ready to party! So like whenever I see someone trying to kill the mood I’m just like, ‘what are you doing?! What are you doing?? Do you even know where you are? Do you know who I am?? I, like, _am_ the party! You ruin the party, and I ruin you!’”

“Woah,” BB says as he stops in his approach, “you, uh, really care about your job, huh?”

Toy Chica full on laughs, “what?! Pfft, no. I wish I didn’t have to work so I could party more often.”

“That’s not really what I—forget it,” BB rubs at his plastic face. Is this really what he has to work with? Is this really what he’s going to go after?

“That’s why I like you!” Toy Chica says.

BB bolts up to face her, and smiles when he realizes she isn’t joking. Maybe this could work. “Oh, really?”

“Cheeuh! You’re like always ready to party.”

BB grins and steps right into her personal space, “you’ve got that right.”

Toy Chica wraps her arms around BB’s shoulders, “I wish more of the guys around here were as chill as you.”

BB ignores the fact that they’ve never really hung out before and returns the hug. “You know, we could party together more often.” He stutters, “like, together? Alone?”

“Sure, I’ll be your girlfriend!” She says as casually as one would the weather.

BB acts cool despite his pistons beating harder than a human heart, “that’s… that’s just what I was thinking!”

“I’ll just have to break up with Toy Freddy,” she continues.

BB’s eyes crack open wide enough for his eyelids to completely recede into his head. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah!” Toy Chica says like she didn’t just drop a bombshell, “Most guys aren’t cool with polygamy.”

“When did you and him…?”

“Like, yesterday, I think?”

“Oh,” BB kicks himself for getting so out of the loop.

“I bet him and Toy Bonnie are in one of the party rooms, we can go together if you want.” She starts her way down to the hallway.

BB’s life flashes before his eyes, “no, no!” He grabs onto Toy Chica, “let’s not do that!” He might really want a companion, but he wants to be alive more.

“Ok!” Toy Chica laughs, “does that mean you don’t want to be my boyfriend?”

“I suppose it does,” he wishes it didn’t.

“Whatever,” she says cheerily, “no, like, skin off my beak.”

BB would be lying if he said her casual approach to dating surprised him, but this was a little more than what he had expected. “So, I guess I’ll see you—where did you go?” She had escaped down the hallway faster than she had asked him out. “A beak doesn’t even have skin,” he mumbles to the greasy air. This time the subject of his insult, if it could be called that, had the good fortune to not hear him.

As the party chick disappears around the corner, BB allows himself to flop onto a seat. He knows that him and her probably wouldn’t work out, but dear lord did that sting. She was actually cool with it; she was actually cool with him! She though _he_ was cool! He had a chance! It was all Toy Freddy’s fault! Why did he have to ruin everything? He already has the Toy’s love, the old guys’ respect, why does he need the hottie too?

“What’s wrong, little man?” Says the chilliest voice he had ever heard, “did someone jack your fuel or something?”

Finally, BB thinks to himself, a person who already likes him! “Nah man, just some girl troubles.”

The shaggy haired man chuckles, “tell me about it.”

BB graciously starts winding his tale of heartbreak and idiocy for his night guard buddy, Jeremy. As he told his harrowing tale, he couldn’t help but size up his human friend. Jeremy is handsome for a human, if the other patrons are anything to go off of, at least. BB is pretty sure he’s Hispanic, or possibly the type to spend a lot of time in the sun due to his dark complexion. But with his dark hair, he’d guess he was just born that way. The guy is muscular too, not like he’s a beefcake, but he’s got enough to be a security guard. BB’s favorite thing about him has to be the fact that he gives BB a chance. And, oh, did BB mention he was an actual stoner? Because he is.

“Dude,” Jeremy drawls, “that’s just like… the worst.”

“I know,” BB says as he leans back against the table, “it’s like no matter what I do, I can’t get any tail.” He chuckles, “literally.”

Jeremy strokes his chin like a regular street-corner philosopher, “my old man always said that if you try to chase happiness you’ll never find it; you gotta let it come to you.”

BB sits up straight, eyes wide in shock, “wow that’s actually pretty… insightful, Jeremy.” He can’t help but hope he had misjudged his strange friend. But the guy did seem to have a lot of wisdom hidden underneath that distinct smell of weed.

He smiles more blissfully than usual, “that’s how I got my last girlfriend.”

If BB could breathe air, he’s pretty sure he’d be choking on it right now, “you have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but my boyfriend doesn’t really like her.”

BB’s face goes completely blank, his eyes going dark and his mouth falling open, as his CPU reboots. Somewhere distantly in what amounts to his consciousness BB faintly recalls that Jeremy is into the whole “free love” movement. He can only assume that hippies really haven’t disappeared yet, or perhaps Jeremy’s parents were and he just never let it go. In either case, Jeremy is getting twice the ass that BB has ever gotten in his life, and that’s only if the man doesn’t pull another romantic partner out of his ass.

Fuzzy silhouettes dance across BB’s eyelids as he finally reboots his senses. He’s not sure what’s going on in front of him, but golly is it going! One of the figures seems really on edge: its body tensed like a coil about to snap. The other one appears to be fighting with the first, the way it bobs and weaves is oddly reminiscent to a boxer who isn’t a big fan of boxing. He tries to move his heavy eyelids to get a better look at the scene in front of him, but his body denies the command. He can almost hear yelling, well he can hear the figures yelling, but not a single word they utter sounds like language to him. The tense figure seems to be doing the most of it, but the fluid one isn’t shy about it either. They’re moving around so much, their scents waft into BB’s nose. They’re a horrid combination of mildew, iron, and… pot?

The clunk of BB’s body jerking back to life goes right over the heads of a very pissed off Foxy and an extraordinarily calm Jeremy. He can’t really blame them, of course, they are in the throes of a quiet battle. The reason he couldn’t hear them going at each other’s throats is probably because they aren’t trying to wake him up. He’d have found it sweet if they’d paid him any attention. The hard, black and white tile beneath him means that they hadn’t even picked him up after he passed out. The two are arguing about him, though: he can definitely hear them hissing at one another about how to treat him.

 _If I’ve got friends like these, who needs enemies?_ BB thinks to himself as he creeps away from the caring/not so caring train wreck. To maximize the chances that he doesn’t have to get into another fight with the fox, BB keeps his eyes trained on the two of them by twisting his head around 180 degrees. It’s a nearly elegant solution: not only does he get to watch them argue over him, but he’ll also know if they realize he’s gone soon enough to escape faster. Really, he’s shocked that he hasn’t thought of this sooner.

A part of himself wants to get upset over the loss of yet another potential partner, but Jeremy probably isn’t the best choice anyways. After all, the janitor is so high all the time BB isn’t even sure he’s aware that BB is a sentient being. Plus, BB would rather not scare off one of his only friends by trying to get into his pants. More importantly for both their health, Foxy would probably gut them like fishes if he found out his little buddy was in a relationship with his worst enemy… Or, if BB dares make such an assumption, his hate crush.

A plastic thump shakes BB out of his gossiping thoughts and straight onto the floor where his fallen body makes another thump. As he peels himself off the gross, sticky tile, BB realizes he stumbled his way into Kid’s Cove. It’s an area he’s more than happy he’s not stationed in: it’s small, smelly, and worst of all there’s nowhere to properly hide his stash. On the bright side, it is home to his favorite animatronic, the lovely Toy Foxy. Where is Toy Foxy anyways?

BB twists his head back around in a frenzy, finally realizing what he had bumped into. As sure as sugar, sitting on a large present box was the one and only Toy Foxy. That fox is the only one in the whole establishment who dares to openly defy the management. Toy Foxy does this with an odd stage persona, Mangle. While Toy Foxy is a sweet pirate, Mangle is this David Bowie, makeup heavy, attention seeking glam-rocker. Mangle is also the animatronic looking down at BB like he’s a misplaced screw.

“Oh, hey Toy Foxy,” BB squeaks, “crazy seeing you here, huh?”

Mangle scoffs, “don’t call me that now, darling, I’m Mangle right now.”

“Yes, of course!” BB stands up and wipes himself off, “sorry, Mangle.”

“Sorry is right,” Mangle says as he(she?) pats her(his?) hair, “you almost gave my makeup artist a heart attack!”

You grunt as if to agree with the flamboyant fox. BB swears he never saw you come in here, but he can’t deny that you’re here now. Thanks to the handsy children and lackluster day security, you’re stuck every night making sure the poor fox doesn’t break down. You’re currently shuffling Mangle’s many limbs around to their proper positions. He’s awfully glad he’s not in either of your positions.

Mangle nudges BB with his(her?) foot, “what brings you here, anyways?” Mangle says, voice now ever so slightly friendlier, “did you want a performance?”

Before BB can enthusiastically agree, you interject with your usual grunting voice, “hold up, you’re not quite ready yet; the kids really went to town on you today.”

Mangle sighs impatiently, “I suppose you’re right.” The colorful fox squeezes your head, as if to punish you for taking so long. “You can’t rush perfection.”

“Absolutely,” BB says, “you couldn’t be more right, dude.” Mangle smiles a real oh-you-bet-your-ass smile, making BB’s red cheeks feel very appropriate. “I did have a question though,” BB says.

“Ask away, darling,” he(she?) says, “anything for a fan.”

“Well, I was sort of wondering if you wanted to… like…”

Mangle leans forward, ever so slightly interested, “yes?”

BB pretends that his heart didn’t leap when she(he?) said that, “I don’t know, maybe… hang out some time? Like… alone? Romantically?” He forces out.

You and the broken fox freeze, your eyes darting to BB in shock. You’ll have to add being capable of romance to the list of bullshit that these robots shouldn’t be able to do but inexplicably are, you think. Mangle’s sudden, sharp laugh makes you second guess that addition.

“You want me to go out with you?” Mangle asks, one hand lifted to his(her?) chest as if to say _you must be joking_!

“Yes?”

“You have to be joking!” Mangle says, guffawing. The overzealous fox is so entertained, she(he?) nearly falls off the box you’re trying to fix him(her?) on. “Someone like you? And someone like me? Oh, please! I am way out of your league!”

BB tries to find something to say, but the humiliation just forces his head down to stare at the floor. He can’t believe he actually asked her(him?) that. That was stupid, that was really really stupid. But he means, what’s wrong with him? Just because he’s kind of a loser, or that he gets his kicks out of smoking batteries, or that he barely talks to anyone… oh that might explain it, actually.

“Mangle that was kind of rude, you know?” You say.

Mangle digs his(her?) long robotic nails into your skull. “Shut up, dear,” she(he?) says lowly, “I didn’t think I gave you permission to talk.”

You grit your teeth and begrudgingly continue to work. You’ll have to add that they can be giant authoritarian assholes to the list. Wow, you’re just learning so much today! Is this what you went to college for? To get trash talked by overly intelligent animal robots? Is this what you took out a debt for? Fucking disgraceful. You glance over to Balloon Boy, just to check on him of course cause apparently you’ve had your speaking privileges revoked. You’re only slightly surprised to find him not there. Poor little guy.

“Do pay attention,” Mangle says, “we wouldn’t want me to fall apart, now would we?”

“Nah,” you lie.

BB barely notices that Foxy and Jeremy moved on to doing whatever the hell they do at this time of the day as he crosses into the main room. He would count himself lucky that the others enjoy hanging out in other places at this time if what had just happened didn’t. But, of course, it did. It did and now he has to reconcile with the fact that Toy Foxy was his last hope. It seems pathetic, but he doesn’t really like anyone else, at least not in that way. Or, alternatively, there’s really no one else that has a chance of liking him. Which of course means that he failed, and he did it quite spectacularly too. The only thing left to do, he supposed, is to longingly stare at the plushies and think about how nice it would be if someone wanted him like they wanted one of them.

As he passes by the Puppet’s box, he tenderly slides his hand across its surface. He regards it so softly partially out of respect for the being it holds, but mostly because he’s too smart to want to anger him in any way, shape, or form. He does owe a lot to that odd puppet man, he has to admit, with the whole teaching him about what he is and bringing his soul back to a body. However, as a rule of thumb, BB doesn’t make it a habit to get too close to beings of immense power and vengeance.

There’s a scuffle in the box and BB once again curses himself for even existing. He knows that the Puppet wakes up at the tiniest little disturbances, and he knows that he wakes up around this time. Why oh why couldn’t he have locked himself in the bathroom like most people when he broods? Why oh why did the best sulking spot in the whole place have to be right next to the worst person to sulk near? And why oh why does this freak of nature have to have psychic powers?

The lid opens dangerously slowly as long black fingers pry it upwards, “oh, Balloon Boy, is that you?” A high pitched, overly dramatic voice says.

“No,” BB mumbles, “not at all.”

The Puppet stretches upwards as he wakes up from his momentary nap, “it’s good to see you up and about!” He says, leaning forward, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Well,” BB says, backing away from the box, “I guess I just wandered over here.”

“You’ve had a terrible day, I presume?” He says.

BB grunts, “of course you’d know that.”

The Puppet laughs his absurd laugh, “oh my dear Balloon Boy, you tickle me! But don’t worry your little head, I wasn’t poking around where I wasn’t invited, I can just _feel_ your sadness.” He smiles extra wide, “it’s a gift, you know.”

“I know, I know,” BB says, “it’s just so freaky.”

“I suppose it is,” the Puppet says, stroking his chin. “Why don’t you tell this dear puppet what’s troubling you, hmm?”

“What’s troubling me,” BB shouts, done with the whole ordeal, “is that I can’t find a cat to have a blast with no matter who I ask!”

Puppet can’t help but gape at the short animatronic, “I’m—I’m sorry?”

“You should be!” BB says intensely, “I bet you and your bullshit magic is why no one in this whole place’ll even look my way! I bet you’ve been watching me and making absolutely sure that no one looks at me twice! Haven’t you?” BB pushes himself to be right at chest level with the Puppet, “why’d you have to do it?”

The Puppet gives BB a little push, just enough to get the raging sphere out of his face, “your allegations are completely unfounded! I would never do such a thing!” He raises his head up pompously, “I would never try and take a freedom away from any of you! You’re all like my children, and I want all of you to be as happy as possible! The mere idea of sabotaging you all is preposterous.”

BB collapses unnecessarily onto the ground well after he was pushed to it. “Must you torture me like this?”

The Puppet wipes his face, “what am I going to do with you, Balloon Boy?”

“Calling me Balloon Man would be a start,” he says, smiling up at the tired Marionette.

“Balloon Man, really?” You say, popping around the corner, “that’s somehow worse than Mangle.” At the sound of your voice, the Marionette shoots back down into the comfort of his box. A loud fump results from him closing it at record speeds. “I guess he didn’t want to talk, huh?” you say as you pat his box.

“You’re already done with Mangle?” BB says, jumping up off his back.

“What were you talking about over here?” You say, answering his question with your own, “it was kind of hard to hear.”

“Oh, that’s not important now,” he says, strangely feeling like he means it.

You kneel down in front of him, your eyebrows pulled together in worry, “c’mon dude, I did hear you yelling about something. And you were super upset after talking to Mangle.” You take one of his weird little nub hands into yours, “you can tell me anything, you know? I won’t tell a soul if you want.”

“Hey man, thanks but I swear it’s… nothing…” say, were you always that pretty? Maybe it’s the light shining down on you from this angle, but dang, you look like an angel. Your face is soft, but still obviously scrunched up in care. Your lips look so shiny after your work with Mangle, and gosh is that expression you’re making cute. Maybe it was because usually you’re either above him or he’s above you, but right now your body is just rocking. The aforementioned light and your hair makes a halo around your face.

“BB?” You say, and BB swears he thought you said “baby,” “what’s the matter?”

“Do you want to go out with me?” he says, his words meaning a few more things than he meant to say.

Your jaw drops, “BB… you are an animatronic, you know?” From how close you are, you can see his eyes shift from hope to utter brokenness way faster than you’ve ever seen.

He takes his hand away, “don’t worry, I get it. I probably wouldn’t want to date me either.” You guess you should add the ability to be heartbroken to your list.

You purse your lips, an odd swell of embarrassment and attachment building up in your chest, “hey wait. I uh… have some time after work tonight.”

You’ve never seen anyone bounce back that fast, “really?!” BB squeals as he hops into your arms, “I would love that!”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he finds himself giving a hard plastic kiss to your surprised mouth. Once his action does catch up with him, he pulls away faster than he thought he could. You giggle at the adorable little look on his face like an anime schoolgirl. You pick him up and begin to twirl around as you peck him all over his ecstatic little face. He can’t help but kick himself for not thinking of you first: you were one of the few people here who not only likes him, but he very much so likes back.

“I said you could take a break,” Mangle yells, “but I didn’t mean for long!”

You sigh and plop BB back onto the tile, “sorry, my work’s calling. I can’t let Mangle just sit there, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, over the moon, “I know.”

You smooch him one last time on the head, “I’ll see you in a few, I guess.”

“I’ll be waiting.” As you disappear around the corner, he allows himself a quick celebration. He thrusts his round hips forward in a rather inappropriate victory dance.

“What the Hell was that?” The Puppet hisses as he rises out of his box like a vampire out of their coffin.

“What was… what?” BB says, backing himself against the wall in self-defense.

“How the hell did you get that to happen?” The Puppet crawls out of his box towards the suddenly terrified Balloon Boy.

“Um… I guess the repair dude liked me more than I thought?” BB says, hoping he would get to go on that date.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, I know that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he glares down at BB, “you’ve upset the order, Balloon Man.”

“Did you like the repair dude or something?” He asks, “cause I’m sorry in that case.”

The Puppet slams BB against the wall, his white eyes filled with more hate than BB had ever seen, “I don’t know how you did that, but that wasn’t supposed to happen. You’ve broken the rules of this timeline, of this universe. The order has been disrupted. And it’s all because of you.”

“I guess I’m a real rebel, huh?” BB says.

The Puppet full on growls at the human-like robot, “you’re playing with forces beyond your control, Balloon Boy.”

“Can you please calm down?”

The Puppet slams BB into the wall one last time, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, or what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work.” He slinks back into his box, but gives BB one final warning, “I’ll be watching you very closely from now on, Balloon Boy. Don’t think for a second that I’ll allow you to subvert the way things need to be.”

The Puppet recedes into his comfort box, leaving BB to catch his metaphorical breath. Once he finds his strength again he calmly leaves the prize corner. He doesn’t pay his respects to the box this time, for obvious reasons, but he does give it a cruel little smile. He passes by the opening to Kid’s Cove, flashing you a devious smile. You don’t pick up on the odd mood he’s in now, and you smile back from behind Toy Foxy. He marches all the way to his station, and gives one of the presents there a little pat.

“Oh, Mary, Mary, Mary,” he chuckles, “You don’t know the half of it.”


End file.
